


Meet the Hermeides

by Soncasong



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Meeting the kids, but they're all from Greek myth, defining a relationship, deities navigating mortal situations, some OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27854786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soncasong/pseuds/Soncasong
Summary: Those of Olympus were known for their insatiable appetites. Charon knew that, expected that, really. Yet Hermes was irresistible, a kindred spirit, and the infernal boatman could not help but fall head over heels for the messenger. Still, Hermes was full of surprises, although Charon really should have expected this (these) surprise(s) too.Well, might be in his best interest to get along with the children, anyhow.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	Meet the Hermeides

The ebbing of the great infernal Styx gently rocked the barge of Charon. He was waiting once again for the inevitable arrival of the god of swiftness and his latest haul of the recently-deceased. Yet this particular wait inspired a different sort of yearning in the infernal boatman. Charon was waiting for Hermes, and this time, just for Hermes. 

The divine messenger arrived at last. Shades throbbed behind the deity, their quivering mirroring the breaking of Stygian waves against the sandy banks. Ever-affable, Hermes grinned, wide and brilliant.

“Hey there, professional associate, got another batch of souls right here for you, my brother’s keeping us busy busy busy, isn’t he? Nothing too special about this group, here. Mind if I give ‘em a little pep talk before you go and do your big boatman thing?”

Charon motioned for Hermes to do as he pleased. He was aware that Hermes’ pep talk was a guise for the doling of obols to those shades lacking the necessary payment to cross, an act of charity that saw the banks of the Styx grow emptier and emptier with each delivery. At first the oarsman was livid at the act, yet like most of his other peculiarities, Hermes’ kindness soon found a spot within Charon’s infernal heart. 

“Alright,” Hermes said, only a few moments later, because he was nothing if not fast, “This batch is all set, big boatman, so it’s back to Olympus for me! Got messages to send, letters to receive, people to meet, you know the gist of it. Well, see you soon!”

Charon reached out, a groan rolling from his lips.

Hermes blinked in surprise, “You want me to wait? Why, boss, I’m the god of going really really fast, it’s basically against my whole entire nature to wait. But for you? I suppose I can make an exception, but just for you.”

The Stygian boatman squeezed his eyes, steeled his mettle, and let out a single hum.

“Oh,” Hermes said, flushing, “Oh. I...see. Boss, no, Charon, I’m flattered. Really, I truly am.”

The hesitation in Hermes’ speech made whatever substituted for a heart in Charon’s chest sink. He had known about the possibility, prepared, really, for rejection. Had worked out the odds of reciprocity until the numbers no longer resembled numbers in his head. It hurt all the same. Charon prepared to push the boat away, unable to bear Hermes’ presence any longer, needing a moment to himself. 

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait!” Hermes called, “Charon, it’s not what you think!”

Charon paused. He, too, did not often pause for others, another trait the two of them shared. Hermes was just an exception on top of a multitude of exceptions. Still, there was a bite to the infernal boatman's next growl. Wounded.

“You know I’m an Olympian, right? Well, like the rest of the family, I’ve plenty to show in the, ah, intimacy department. Gotta do the old man justice and all that, and, well, there were a few happy accidents. Children, just a few, really, and I don’t know if you’re okay with that.”

The boatman hesitated. Hermes continued prattling on, his staccato speech accelerating in that nervous way only Charon would recognize as agitation, “Thing is, I don’t know if you’re used to all that, I don’t know if you want to be with someone with a little bit of extra baggage. I mean, most of my kids are kinda dead and the immortal ones are all grown now, but I have responsibilities and all that and I don’t know if…”

The usually quick-lipped god gestured lamely, an uncharacteristic loss of anything to say. Charon reached out, bony fingers meeting calloused palms, and squeezed. The Stygian oarsman hummed softly. A soft, shy smile alighted on Hermes’ face.

“Wait, really? Wow, boss, I don’t really...Ah, I guess...Thank you. Really, for giving me a chance.” He leaned in, a brush of lips against the boatman’s cheek. 

“I need to go. But, well, you’re the best, boss. I never thought you would be the one to approach me, never really thought you felt the same. I...ah, I’ll see you soon?”

Elated, Charon nodded, a ghastly hand reaching up for a wave. Hermes waved back before darting away, leaving Charon on the docks with thoughts swimming in his head. 

The appetite of the Olympians were infamous, and Charon had expected Hermes to at least have a few Zeusian tendencies. The boatman supposed this was but one of those risks of being involved with a child of Olympus. They never could settle for just one. A ghastly sigh escaped the musing boatman’s lips, eliciting a quiver of fear from the assembled shades. Right, he had been keeping them for far too long. No one could do his job but him, after all.

He pondered the consequences of simply stopping. No more ferrying souls, just burgeoning phantasmal mass marooned on the banks of the Styx. The kind of vengeful fit even Demeter would envy.

No. Charon chuckled to himself. Such displays of petty anger were beneath him, beneath those who sprung from Mother Night herself. When that time, no, if that time comes, Charon supposed he would just keep on paddling, like he has for all time since and for all time to come. For now, the river boatman was content that he had captured Hermes’ heart, if only for a passing moment.

* * *

Another deity was trailing behind Hermes when he returned next. If Charon had eyebrows, they would be raised far past the crown of his lavishly decorated hat. Hermes was business as usual, shining with that orange glow Charon had grown to adore. The deity behind him was beautiful, radiant with an aloof austerity the infernal boatman once associated with all those of Olympus, draped in the finery of Aphrodite and not much else.

Hermes flew in for a kiss. “Miss me, boss?”

Charon hummed appreciatively. Kisses, he decided, were quite pleasant. 

“I missed you too,” Hermes said. He gestured for the deity to move forward, “This here is one of my children, Hermaphroditus. Why don’t the two of you get to talking and all that? Hermie here’s got plenty of interesting stories, if only I could hear them from the source and not Lady Aphrodite.”

Once again, Charon’s gaze fell on the strange, alluring creature across him. So they were one of Hermes’ multitudinous progeny. Charon still could not comprehend his paramour’s desire to acquaintance the boatman with his children. Mother Nyx never expressed the need to introduce him nor his many, many siblings to primordial Chaos, although he supposed the situations were a little different. Still, Charon was at a loss to Hermes’ intentions. 

He extended his palm anyways, a gesture of good-faith in both the stranger and his beloved Hermes. The ethereal deity sniffed, nose upturned, before reaching out with a dainty hand.

“Please don’t call me that,” they huffed to Hermes before addressing Charon. “Boatman.” 

Even their voice was enticing, filled with the kind of mellifluous sonority that would have driven mortals insane. Yet it was cold. Steely, like their gaze as their eyes roamed up and down the heavy robes Charon so favored, filled with a disinterested sort of disgust. 

The boatman growled his greeting, eyes searching the god of swiftness for any kind of explanation.

“Father, why ever did you bring me here?” Hermaphroditus whined. So the godling shared his sentiment. He doubted they had much else in common.

“The Erotes and I were quite occupied, and I, we, really, did not appreciate your untimely interruption.”

Hermes laughed shakily, “I thought it would be a good idea for you to meet my big boatman, Hermi–Hermaphroditus! Seeing we don’t ever get to see each other much, maybe it’s a chance for you and me and my professional associate here to catch up, get to know each other a little bit better. Plus, you and the big boatman can bond, talk about life and such.”

Hermaphroditus laughed. Charon was taken aback by how such a beautiful sound can seem so cruel. An instinctive hand shot out towards Hermes and pulled him close. No creature, divine or otherwise, had permission to hurt his Hermes. 

“Truthfully, I don’t know why you see the need to do such a thing, father. You did not see the need to introduce me to Penelope, or Carmentis, or Polymele, or whoever else you’ve had your fun with. Why now?”

Charon could feel Hermes shift beside him, “Because I don’t want to mess this up.”

Ever so gently, Charon hummed into Hermes’ ear. He hoped it sounded reassuring.

“So are you done wasting my time?” Hermaphrodite asked, “Mother will be feeling my absence soon enough. As I said, I was occupied with a very pressing matter.”

“Go on, then.” Hermes said, deflated.

Charon watched as the deity disappeared in a cloud of heavily perfumed smoke, leaving behind the sound of tinkling bells and the impression of a kiss. The divine messenger grew limp by the infernal boatman’s side, the god’s face having fallen into his hands. Charon squeezed Hermes’ shoulder with a soft groan. Hermes looked up.

“No, I’m fine. Was just hoping for a better outcome, is all. Hermaphrodite and I, well, they’ve always taken after their mother, I suppose, and I think they resent me to some extent.”

Charon hummed quietly.

“Boss!” Hermes laughed, the sound music to the boatman’s hellish ears, “Yes, I do suppose all children resent their parents, at least a little bit. Well, except for most of Nyx’ progeny. I’m a bit jealous, to be frank. Given the fact that neither me or Aphrodite settled down for long, I guess Hermaphrodite’s got reason to be careful before getting too attached you know?”

Charon gripped his oar tighter.

“Boss?”

Charon growled. Perhaps they could speak of this another time, but not today.

Hermes, ever inquisitive, pushed anyways, “Are you sure, big boatman? Sure you’re fine?”

Charon nodded, willing the Olympian to leave the subject be for now. Thankfully, the message seemed to have gotten to Hermes.

“Very well then, I have another very pressing appointment to go to, but I’ll see you soon, yes? Keep me in your thoughts, and… I’m sorry about Hermaphroditus. I should’ve known better. I’ll be going now, take care, my big boatman!”

He pressed a kiss to Charon’s forehead before flitting off. The sullen riverman stared after the trail of orange light, carelessly jettisoned by the divine messenger. He wondered if he could ever catch up to Hermes, or if the mercurial deity will just leave him behind. Charon wished he could stand there, forever wondering, for all eternity. Yet the throngs of shades quivering in his barge, waiting for their own eternity, left him no room for dallying. At least he could always count on the steady stroke of his oars against the Styx, ever beating against the lazy current of the bloody river. Some mortals accused Aphrodite as the most terrible of the Olympians. Perhaps there was some truth to their words. 

* * *

The ferryman was feeling rather apprehensive about his next sojourn with the god of swiftness. His happiness was carefully measured, reserved, lest his heart soon be broken by the whims of a flitting Olympian. Still, Charon waited, for his job required regular contact with Hermes, while oscillating between dread and anticipation for their next business transaction.

This time, Hermes arrived with the merry sound of flutes, a stately satyr jovially conversing with the winged god. Charon’s fingers instinctively curled around his oar, ready to strike at any sign of aggression. An eternity of the hoovened pests at the temple resulted in certain prejudices ingrained in the denizens of the underworld, and Charon was no exception. 

Good-natured Hermes, however, showed no reservations at the presence of the goat-legged faun. He was cordial, familiar, even. Too familiar.

Charon growled menacingly.

“Wait, boss, it’s all good! This isn’t one of those satyrs you guys have down at the temple, good luck by the way, heard they’ve been multiplying. No, this is my adopted son, Pan. Pan, this is Charon.”

The satyr reached out a hand. Millenia of repeated harassment caused the boatman to hesitate, but he reciprocated nonetheless. Hermes was throwing those puppy eyes at him again, and Charon was, unfortunately, quite thoroughly whipped.

“Pleasure to meet you, no really, it is such a pleasure,” the satyr beamed. He was surprisingly well groomed for a faun, yet there was still a wild air about him. Whereas the satyrs infesting the tunnels were akin to the spoiled, dirty vermin slithering in the mud, this Pan character conjured the stately regality of the oaks and pines, of rolling fields and blooming meadows. The glint in his eyes was not unlike Hermes’ own. They could have been related by blood.

Charon hummed with a tentative caution, his resolve being slowly whittled down by the pleased expression on Hermes’ face. 

“Ah, so you’ve met some of my descendants,” Pan grinned, “Rowdy bunch, the whole lot of them, good thing they’re mortal, is it not? Trust me when I say I take no responsibility for their behavior, absolutely none at all.”

Charon growled, accusatory.

“Why, I just told you, good boatman! They’ve swore themselves to Dionysus at first, great guy, by the way, but then they really jumped off the deep end afterwards. Man, I can’t control them, even if I wanted to.”

It was then that Hermes lighted by Charon’s side, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Trust me, boss, Pan’s no threat. He’s a good kid really, raises the wildlife and stuff, although I suppose Demeter’s little fit is throwing a wrench in all that.”

“Tell me about it, dad,” Pan huffed, “At this rate all the animals will die before spring ever comes, and that won’t be fun, now would it?”

The two psychopomps shared a singular look. Yes, they were privy to the Underworld’s worst kept secret, but revealing such things to a god from the surface at this particular moment in time did not seem like the wisest ideas. Even if said god was Hermes’ adopted child. 

And so the infernal boatman simply hummed and hoped that was condolences enough. 

“Thanks, boat dude. You know, I can see why dad keeps going on and on and on about you, you’re pretty–”

“That’s enough now, Pan,” Hermes said, the barest hint of an edge in his voice. 

“Aw, do you not want me to tell your river friend here about the life-size pillow you ke–”

“No, Pan!”

The satyr barreled on, “But what about the really detailed painting in–”

“No, stop right there young man, that is a very private detail about my life that you should most definitely not be privy to.”

The evolving situation grew ever more entertaining for the river oarsman. With a groan, he inquired the satyr-god further.

“Aha, knew you’d bite the bait! The other day, caught dear old dad here plucking away at a little daisy looking all lost and–”

“Okay, we are going!” The hapless Olympian screeched, face the color of a freshly picked pomegranate. Charon watched as Hermes dragged his foster child away by the horn like a petulant anklebiter. 

“Wait, dad! I haven’t even gotten to the best part!”

“We have work to do! Lots and lots of work!”

Charon, usually not one for jests, could not help but snarkily point out the satyr-god’s current lack of employment opportunities. Hermes’ countenance started to resemble a portion of the river Styx, “You are so lucky that you are cute, boss. My son and I are going now, so goodbye, until next time, see you soon, and no, Pan will not be coming along.”

The Stygian boatman indulged a little laugh at his beloved’s expense. He knew he would have his chance to talk to Pan another time, inevitably, and then the secrets of Hermes would easily reveal themselves. Perhaps this was one satyr whose company he would not mind having. 

* * *

Hermes returned, as always, another string of souls snaking at his back, as always. A customary greeting, a quick kiss, a smile and a laugh. The fastest of the gods seemed even lighter than before, and Charon contented himself with indulging in his beloved’s joyful grin. Hermes was being even more handsy than usual, reaching for Charon’s robes, Charon’s hat, Charon’s rings. 

“I, uh, have a little bit of time until my next appointment, and I was thinking these souls can afford to wait a while, if you know what I mean.” Hermes drawled, summoning a flush on the Stygian boatman’s pallid cheeks. “Only if you’re willing boss, and if you really have to go, I–”

Hermes quieted, silenced by the press of Charon’s lips against his, deep and full and all encompassing. Hermes laughed against the oarsman’s lips. They tugged at each other, pushing and pulling and touching and Charon wondered if this was what mortals felt like while air still pumped through their lungs. He guided Hermes to a small alcove by the docks, away from the curious gazes of the assembled shades. 

“Charon!” Hermes gasped. Ah, so the point where his shoulder met his neck was sensitive. Perhaps Charon could use this newly discovered tidbit information to his advantage.

“Father?” came a clear, tinkling voice, “Father? I’ve got a message for you! Can’t stay long, though, got another message for lady Hera and you know how she gets when she has to wait.”

“Angelia?” Hermes squeaked, peeling himself off a disheveled Charon. “What is, ah, one moment, please, what is the message you have?”

The source of the intrusion rounded the corner, a goddess with a grin that matched Hermes’ own. “There you are, father! And who–oh, you must be Charon! Father talks about you all the time, you know. If I were to be frank, I never thought he’d gather the courage to–”

“Angelia, I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t embarrass me in front of my professional colleague here. Your brother almost destroyed any facade of respectability I had and I’d rather not have my dignity be completely destroyed,” Hermes interjected, “What was your message to me, again?”

The goddess giggled, “Why, father, I would think you two are very much past the point of professional colleagues now. But yes, your message, from the lord Zeus himself! Ahem,  _ Hello son, I was wondering why you’ve been running late so often lately. And why can’t I seem to see you anymore? Is everything alright? Don’t make me bring out the big bolts, young man. Love, Zeus. _ Well, that’s it!”

Hermes rolled his eyes, “Come, now, father has a retinue of messengers, you included. I don’t see why I don’t deserve a break every now and again.”

“You know how much Iris gossip, father, and grandfather seems rather unwilling to use my services, never could figure out why,” Angelia pouted, yet another expression she inherited from her father.

Having finally finished readjusting his robes to some semblance of respectability, Charon hummed his greeting. He followed it with an urgent groan. 

The goddess gasped in response, “Oh, right! Lady Hera will have my hide if I don’t hurry!” She threw her arms around Charon with an energy second only to her father. “Nice to meet you, Charon sir! Take good care of my father for me!”

The goddess zipped away, trailing orange light and the sound of pattering feet. Charon quirked up his lips and groaned, low and teasing. His fellow psychopomp seemed unfazed.

“Angelia’s just like that, takes a lot after me. Good thing too, if I’m to be frank, because, well…”

Charon, honed in the art of secret keeping, hummed, coaxing the atypically reticent Hermes to continue his story.

“Lord Father Zeus, well, he decided he wanted the woman I was with. Angelia’s mother. There was...nothing I could do. We don’t know who fathered her, and her mother, well, she’s gone. Hid herself so she would never have to face an Olympian again. I can’t blame her really.” 

Charon sighed, long beleaguered. Hermes nodded.

“Yeah, the situation’s rather complicated, but I wouldn’t trade Angelia for anything. Pan, too, and even Hermaphroditus. And you, my big boatman, I can’t possibly imagine a life devoid of your presence.”

Charon hummed. Perhaps this was the explanation for Hermes’ insistence on these meetings with his children. He rasped his affection, hoping the sentiment reached the other god.

“Why, thank you. But you’ve got a big heart too, Charon, I hope you know that,” Hermes looked down bashfully and groaned, “My father’s insisting I get back to work, though, and I really don’t want to chance his wrath right about now. So shall we continue this some other time?”

Charon nodded, though disappointment shone easily on his ghastly visage. 

“Sorry, boss. I’m not too happy about this either, if I’m completely honest. But, well, I’ll be seeing you soon, yes? Love you!”

The smoky haze spewing from the ferryman’s mouth coalesced into a series of floating hearts, framing Hermes’ smiling face. The messenger beamed and nodded. Charon hoped his intentions were clear, and he could sense something concrete in Hermes’ voice, some determined conviction. Yet he could not be sure. Before Charon could comment further, Hermes was gone. So Charon returned to his work, filing this conversation away for another day. 

* * *

Something was amiss the next time Hermes returned to the banks of the river Styx. The customary greeting and smile Charon had come to expect never materialized. There was simply silence, then the crush of strong arms around the boatman’s body and a winged face pressed to his chest.

Charon’s racing mind immediately jumped towards the worst possible conclusion. This was it. Hermes had sated his whims and was ready for something more exciting, ready to leave Charon behind. 

Heartbroken Charon let out a single low rumble, the sound much more melancholic than intended. 

“Wait, what?” Came the reply. Hermes craned up his neck, eyes wide and searching, “No, boss, why would you ever think that?”

Another rumble.

“No, Charon! You’re not, no, why would you ever think you were simply just a whim to me? You’re more than that, so much more. Why do you think I wanted you to know my children? I...I was scared you wouldn’t want me, wouldn’t want some used goods. And I wanted to show them all how wonderful you were, why I love you, and...oh, Charon, you’re not a whim to me. Never.”

Something soft and warm and delicate swelled in Charon’s unbeating heart. He leaned forward, palm cupping his beloved’s face, and connected their lips. The boatman never had a need for words. His coworkers had little difficulty understanding his grunts and groans. But now, there were a multitude of tender things he wished to say out loud, yet the silent riverman lacked the means to voice those sentimentalities. So he hoped this, his arm around his lover’s waist, the place where their lips met, his fingers carding through fine strands of hair, was enough. 

“I love you, Charon.”

Charon’s reply, ringed with a halo of smoky hearts, mirrored the Hermes’. The pair of psychopomps stood, soaking in each other’s presence, before Charon broke the silence with a curious hum.

“Oh, that? I’ve just had a really rough time of it lately, is all. Wanted to see you as soon as possible. I’m sorry, boss, didn’t know you were holding all that in, I should’ve been paying closer attention.”

Charon shook his head. His own concerns had been laid to rest, and now it was his turn to lend a soothing presence to the other god.

“What happened?” Hermes sighed into his palms, “I...heard a rumor that Pan had died. I couldn’t believe it, you know? The three you’ve met, well, they’re the only children I have that are divine. The rest are down there. Carried a few down myself.”

Hermes gestured to the mouth of the Styx and the yawning abyss of Hades beyond, “Something about me tends to produce mortals. I mean, Pan’s adopted and Angelia might not even be...nevermind that. I love them, loved them all, and I thought Pan was safe. Couldn’t believe the rumors, but then I remembered what happened to the centaur Chiron.”

Charon hummed, urging his companion to continue. He reached an arm around the messenger god, pulling him ever so much closer. Hermes hummed along, matching the tone of cadence of Charon’s own words.

“Thank you, I really needed that. I went to check on Pan after that, but it’s hard to track him down, what with his domain being so vast and all. I found him, finally, by Arcadia, and there was not a scratch on him, boss, he was fine, perfectly fine.” There was a wetness to Hermes’ voice now, an emotion Charon had only ever witnessed on Mother Night, “First thing he told me was ‘Dad, the reports of my death were greatly exaggerated,’ and, hah, I was so relieved. So, so relieved.”

The god twisted in Charon’s arms, “Still, there’s that lingering worry, you know, that I couldn’t rid myself of no matter how hard I tried. I had to find you then. Sorry for showing up with no souls, boss.”

Once again, Charon shook his head. Those mortals could afford a lesson in patience, even now at the threshold of their afterlife. Hermes had the right to take a break when he needed to.

“You truly are the best, Charon. I love you. A lot.”

Charon rumbled his agreement. 

* * *

Time continued its march towards eternity, with little change in the rhythm of Charon’s life. Rendezvous with Hermes, receive his payments, ferry the dead down the Styx. If he occasionally bedded the Olympian every now and again, why, that was of little consequence to the efficiency of which he completed his job. 

Angelia often stopped by, as did Pan, each bringing their own flavor of animation into Charon’s life. Even Hermaphroditus visited once, during the whole debacle with Psyche and Eros and Aphrodite. They were still as cold as the first time, putting Demeter’s chill to shame. Charon had not seen them since. The prince began his wanton destruction of the realm, and their missing queen returned not long after. Charon was only mildly smug of the role his beloved and him played in the prince’s escapes. Mildly. 

Today, or night, the threshold of the temple marked the point where one could never really tell, Charon had something special for Hermes. He waited, as he always did, for the other god. Ever-charming, Hermes lighted down with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. A peck on the lips, a caress of the hair, Charon reacquainting himself with Hermes once again. 

“Hey there, boss, kind of a slow day today. Not much dying going on up there and your good brother’s taking care of most of the ones that are.”

Charon hummed and reached into his robes, the bottle of aged ambrosia tinkling in his grasp. He offered it over to Hermes, who only laughed in response and procured a matching flask of his own.

“Great minds think alike, my big boatman. What do you say we open these bad boys up and enjoy ourselves for the night, or day, I suppose. Never could really tell around these parts.”

The infernal boatman settled into his barge, motioning for his beloved to follow. Then there was a pop and a crackle and the sound of loud, animated talking drifting into the halls of the Temple of Styx. Most peculiar. Shades dared not to be so disruptive. Charon shared a look with Hermes.

The voices carried into the chamber, loud and clear and just vaguely familiar, “Frankly, dear siblings, I’m surprised father has lasted this long.”

“Come now, Hermaphroditus, would it kill you to be happy for father just this once? Why, I think the boatman’s positively charming.”

“Ugh, that makes one of us, dearest sister.”

“Make that two! I think, no I really think dad’s settling on this one, guys. So we’ve gotta celebrate, we really do! Angelia, you brought the goods, right?”

Hermes chuckled, extending a hand to Charon. He took it, marveling at how their fingers slotted so easily, bone against flesh. 

“Shall we go give the kids a hello?”

Charon hummed in mock annoyance. Yes, yes they shall. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this little thing was born out of the idea that, well, Hermes was an Olympian, he must have had kids, right? Tracked down as many of his divine children as possible and sources are, well, very contradictory. This is my best interpretation his relationship of the three I've decided to include in the fic. Seriously, there's an Angelia and an Angelos and both are too similar for me to think they're different, but one's the child of Hermes and the other one's a child of Zeus. Very cool, Greek myth. And don't even get me started on Pan, who is like everyone and no one's son at the same time. There was also a wrestling goddess that I could not find any primary sources for that I've decided not to include because I do not want to accidently cause a Mesperyian situation. 
> 
> Thank you to [pantu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantu) for betaing this fic. It was incredibly difficult to nail the tone I wanted for it and the whole thing was rewritten like...so many times it wasn't even funny. Still not sure if I'm a hundred percent happy with this version but at least I am satisfied with it.


End file.
